It's Alright
by crimewars
Summary: A prompt-fill for MorbidbyDefault: fluff Molly having a skating accident. Teenlock. COMPLETE


**Hi guys! Okay, a really quick Author's Note before I let you all read. This is actually for MorbidbyDefault, since she asked for this on tumblr, so I really hope you liked it Meg! The original prompt was for some fluff (I am not the best with fluff so I apologize in advance) and for Molly to fall during a skating session. I made this teenlock, because it would have worked with what I had in mind more. Also, please keep in mind that I am NOT English no matter how much I wish I was. So, if I got anything wrong in terms of how things work, then I am really sorry. Please excuse me. ALSO, I have not broken anything before in my life so I don't really know what it's like on the pain front. If I've gotten anything wrong, please feel free to let me know in the review box :) (wow this wasn't even remotely short but some things had to be said)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of ****_Sherlock _****and no copyright infringement intended. All rights belong to Moftiss and I'm just taking these out for a spin. **

* * *

Molly Hooper narrowed her eyes at her boyfriend, who was currently stretched out languidly on her bed.

"C'mon. You said you would come with me if I helped you with your experiment, and I did, so there! So get up!"

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock said huffily. He looked at her quizzically.

"You know…the school fundraiser. The skating thing?"

"_Oh. _That. Dull."

"No, not dull. It's a new rink and our school needs the money. Besides, you promised."

Sherlock Holmes gets up from Molly's bed and glares at her.

"One day, you'll be the death of me." He says with a sigh.

"No, I won't." Molly answers. She smiles at him, taking his sigh as a sigh of defeat. She gets up on her tip-toes and kisses him lightly.

"Thank you." She whispers. Everyone at school was baffled by Molly and Sherlock's relationship. Sherlock was so socially inept, and Molly was just awkward and shy. It was hard to imagine the either of them in any form of relationship.

But, somehow, it had happened. It all started in Year 7's chemistry class. Their teacher had set them up as lab partners. Molly, who had often admired from afar, was horribly shocked to be Sherlock Holmes' lab partner. He was very impatient, horribly so, but even then, all it really took was a well-aimed kick to the shins to shut him up. They had formed some kind of bond, and Molly was quite pleased with it. She felt proud to be called Sherlock's friend, although many people did not see it in that light. Because of it, Molly would be teased. She was a naturally happy person and she didn't let it bug her. Until one day, Molly's parents told her that her father had cancer. She had gone to school the next day, with that usual go-lucky smile tucked away and a somber expression in place. Her eyes were still red from crying. They were in Year 11 and the only reason Molly was at school was because she had a big test that she simply couldn't miss. And, she might have needed the distraction. But, that day, all it took for her tormentors to send her reeling and crying was just one snobby comment. She had flung herself into the loo and just cried. She was sick of it all. She was sick of the tormentors, and Sherlock's unsavory behaviour towards her, her family problems, and schoolwork in general. She felt sad and lonely and it was the worst feeling in the world.

Sometime later, Sherlock burst through the door of the loo.

"Molly? Molly, I know you're in here!"

Go away Sherlock!" the voice came out muffled and angry.

"No, I won't." His legs carried him to the source of her voice.

Molly sniffled and wipes her sleeve against her runny nose. She didn't want to deal with Sherlock. In fact, she didn't really want to deal with him, _ever. _

"Molly, I am just going to sit here until you come out. Don't say I haven't given you a fair warning."

"It's the girls' loo, Sherlock! Get out!" she screeched.

"No."

With a resigned sigh Molly clambered off the toilet and wiped her eyes. She opened the door.

"Fine. I'm here. What do you want? Need me to sneak you a Bunsen burner or something?"

Sherlock looked taken aback.

"No...it's just…John said…never mind. Are you alright?"

"No, I'm not alright."

Sherlock looked so uncomfortable and unlike himself.

"What's wrong?"

Molly looked up at Sherlock. He was so tall…and lanky. She felt dwarfed by him.

"My…my dad's got cancer." She whispered.

She looked up at him, wondering what he would do. She didn't often agree with what her peers said about Sherlock, but she did agree that he was…not very emotional.

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"No, you're not."

Molly had always been able to see through him. It was a blessing and a curse.

For once he didn't say anything. She turned to leave and was yanked back by him. He had grabbed on to her wrist.

Suddenly, he pressed his lips against hers and said

"Yes, I am. It'll make you sad."

"Yes, it will." She whispers. "I already am sad."

He looked at her and she caught a flicker of pity and sadness before he blanked out and kissed her again, firmly.

And so, they were together. It was unconventional and strange. A lot had changed in their relationship. She grew more comfortable with him, and he in turn opened up more. She saw sides of him that she was sure his own mother hadn't seen. In the very least, Molly felt special. But she felt sad too. Because of her father. A few months later, it seemed that the cancer was at bay. Sherlock had been the first person Molly told.

Their relationship had taken a turn for the better. She was happier, and she even had a semblance of control over him.

Molly is startled from her thoughts by his voice.

"Why aren't you getting ready? Have you even skated before?"

Molly narrows her eyes.

"Of course I have skated. I'm not good at it, but it's not difficult. Come on!"

* * *

Half an hour later found those two at the skating rink, Molly looking absolutely happy and Sherlock looking absolutely murderous. Molly positively dragged him to the rink after putting skates on.

"Come on Sherlock, it really isn't that bad." She says.

He glared at her.

She refused to be phased by his bad mood and grabbed his hands.

"Molly this is ridiculous."

"No, it's not."

"It is. I'm only here for you. I have much better things to do with my time."

"Yeah, I got that, thanks." She snapped. Some days (like today) he was just determined to ruin her mood. Well, it won't happen.

Molly turned and let go of his hand. She skated a bit more forward, angry with herself. She knew she shouldn't have made him come but it was too tempting. She just, she wanted to be normal. Is that too much to ask for? Apparently, yes. Yes it was.

She was lost in her thoughts that she didn't see who was right in front of her, and her concentration snapped in half, causing her to fall on the floor ungracefully.

Pain sparked through her right ankle, and she tried to grab at it. It was still, unfortunately encased in a big chunky skate. She barely noticed the tears that were slipping down her cheeks, and tried to get up. Putting any pressure on her right ankle made her want to die, it hurt that bad.

"Molly? Molly!" a familiar baritone voice shouted out throughout the others. She felt someone move her hair back and reach for her ankle amongst a chorus of voices asking her whether she was alright.

"Of course I'm not alright, do I even look remotely alright?" she snapped. Pain made her cranky, she had learned after spraining her wrist after falling from the top bunk at her cousins' house.

Sherlock pushed through the people, until his face was the only one she saw.

"Are you alright?"

"Do I _look _alright?" she snaps. He can't help but smirk at that. God, he loved it when Molly was snarky.

"Tell me what hurts." Sherlock says curtly.

"Ankle." She hissed.

"Right, or left?" he asks.

"Mate, the staff will take care of her, just let her be." Molly hears someone say.

She can imagine the murderous glare Sherlock would have given that stranger. If she wasn't dizzy with pain, then she might have laughed.

Molly can't remember how long she was there. The pain made her go in and out of focus. Her mind was nagging her and telling her to sleep, and she felt that it might have been better to sleep. Still, she wanted to know everything was okay.

Suddenly she felt a slight pressure to her forehead and looked up. Molly registered Sherlock right above her head.

"It'll be alright."

With that, she nodded and bit her lip. It wasn't soon after that she lost consciousness.

* * *

When Molly woke up, she was home. Or atleast, it felt like home.

She got up and glanced at her foot. It was wrapped in a cast.

_So I really did break it then. _She mused. Moments later her mother came in.

"Oh, sweetheart! How are you feeling?"

"Groggy." She answers. Her mother hands her a cup of water. Molly smiles, grateful.

"What happened?" she asked after taking a small sip.

"Well, Sherlock called. He said you passed out and that you fell? Sweetheart, you should be more careful! The staff waited for us to come and we took you to the hospital. We got you x-rayed and everything. Broken ankle, but it'll be fine. The doctors said you might need to have physical therapy if it doesn't heal right but that's really unlikely…We didn't want to wake you so we just brought you here."

Her mother was always quite so used to giving an onslaught of information. Before, it had been tedious and annoying but now she was grateful.

She smiles and nods, and then wonders…

"Mum…is Sherlock still here?"

She smiles.

"Yeah. Want me to send him up?"

"Yes, please." She smiles as innocently as she can.

Mum nods and leaves to get Sherlock.

Molly turns around half in bed and puts her pillows up against the headboard scooting back to rest her upper body against the headboard. She leans back as Sherlock steps into the room.

He looked a little pale but he smiles at her nonetheless.

"How do you feel?"

"Fantastic. That is, if it wasn't for this horrid ankle."

"Yes. You won't be able to walk independently for two months. A bit unlucky, don't you think?"

She narrows her eyes. There is something odd about the way he said that.

"Unlucky for you or for me?" she asks finally.

"Us both. See, if you had just listened to me and if we stayed here you wouldn't have a broken ankle."

"Are you blaming this on _me_?" Molly feels outraged. She really shouldn't and she should let his behaviour slide, but for Christ's sake! She broke her ankle! At least he could be a bit more courteous.

"No, Molly I'm not. I'm just saying-"

"No, I know what you're saying. Seriously, Sherlock. I broke my ankle, be more nice."

"If you expect me to be nice-"

"-then I shouldn't have dated you. Yes, I know, you've said it quite a lot." She is tempted to throw him out of her room.

He looked hurt. Maybe she shouldn't have been this hard on him…

"Molly, I am sorry, trust me, I did not mean to hurt your feelings."

She sighs.

"Of course, I know you didn't…I'm sorry too…it's just my ankle hurts."

"Want me to get you something for that?" He makes a move to get up, before Molly says-

"No, it's fine."

"Are you sure?"

She nods and gives him a tight-lipped smile.

They share a comfortable silence. It wasn't odd for them to not talk for ages. It just…happens.

He smiles and takes her hand in his, rubbing smooth circles on the back of her hand.

She smiles at him.

"You should get home…" she whispers.

He nods in agreement but doesn't make a move.

Molly leans over and kisses him soundly.

"I'm going to be very bad company soon, so go home."

"I don't get it. Why are you going to be bad company?"

She laughed at him. Not in a mean way, but in an aren't-you-cute way.

"I'm feeling tired. Come back tomorrow?"

He looks at her uncertainly before leaning in to kiss her and then he slipped out.

"Goodnight Molly."

* * *

In the following weeks, Sherlock was perhaps the most respectful that Molly has ever seen him. Well, to her at least. Which was a nice change, really. She thought it was because of her being on her crutches. Whatever it was, she tried not to over think it. She didn't _want_ to overthink it. She wanted to enjoy it while it lasted. Molly would hobble along on crutches, and he would massage her shoulders when they went back to her house afterschool. She giggled at the memory. He would even shoulder her bag sometimes. A lovely thought, to be honest. Maybe he blamed himself that she had a broken ankle. Because, if he hadn't been so horrid, and she hadn't run off, then she might not have broken her ankle. Whatever it was, she didn't care.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Please, let me know what you thought! :) **


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